


Last Night Before Daylight

by skysonfire



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Anti-Hero, Anticipation, Armando Salazar Backstory, Backstory, Curse of the Black Pearl, Curses, Dead Man's Chest, El Matador Del Mar, F/M, Ghosts, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Javier Bardem - Freeform, Moon Pearl, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Off-screen Relationship(s), One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Pirates, Pirates of the Caribbean References, Rough Body Play, Sex, Silent Mary, The Butcher of the Sea, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire
Summary: Armando Salazar beckons his mistress to meet him aboard the Silent Mary the night prior to a lengthy voyage. Unnerved by dreams that seem to have a direct link to the pearl gifted her by her Spanish captain, his mistress pressures him about its history and origins. Unsettled, Salazar encourages from her a night of passion before he sets sail -- a technique to distract her from her queries. Still, his feelings for this woman are too great, and he acquiesces to reveal information about the pearl and where he is headed next. What exactly will he reveal?





	Last Night Before Daylight

She stands by the widows in the great cabin and considers the darkness of the night. The moon betrays the stealthy movement of the water as its chop becomes more defined from the growing wind, and she considers her ghostly reflection in the wavy crown glass, perfectly polished and backlit by the ornate oil lamps and silver candelabras that punctuate and warm the expanse of the stern. 

Her body quivers on the inside, though on the exterior she is a vision of calm collection. Her gown is a relaxed satin blue and the lace on the sleeves hits her forearms in just the right way to bring emphasis to her slight wrists that seem to glow in the late evening. Her hair is upswept, lethargic curls spilling over and onto her cheeks and neck. She wears no jewelry, but the pearl lingers inside her pocket — the most precious and beautifully sentimental thing she owns, gifted her by the captain of the fine ship in which she should not be standing — a man with whom she had no business fraternizing.  

His reflection catches her eye and she watches him as he gently lifts between his fingers two carved snifters at their stout stems and reaches for the decanter of fine molasses rum. He walks the glassware to the shining mahogany desk at her back and places them down before discreetly clearing his throat. His tone has a boisterous tendency, but he tempers himself when he speaks to her. His is a deep and lyrical presentation, his English measured, but so easy and quick in its rolling patterns. She loves the sounds of his voice in her ears — she can hear them even when he’s nowhere near, when he is far at sea and she is surrounded by local vibrations so far from his native Spain. 

“Will you take a drink with me?” He asks, pouring the rum carefully, watching her all the while as the color rises in her face. 

“It would be rude to refuse, I suppose,” she responds, playfully, accepting from him the short glass. 

He raises his own along with his eyebrows in a toast and they clink their glasses before sipping slowly the rum. It’s a fine, warm caress in her chest and she feels it in her eyes and pulse immediately. He takes another sip and presses his lips together, only to wick them quickly with his tongue. He looks out at the night alongside her and they are quiet for a few moments. She can tell that he is waiting for her move. 

“Don’t you think it’s bad luck?” She asks, and he knows what she means. He laughs and turns toward her. 

“Of course it’s bad luck,” he replies, the smile on his face so youthful; the lines of his expression that cut across his cheeks so definite and soft. He is both firm and yielding, and she touches at the medals on his coat, her own expression of sentiment. 

“Is this the first time you’ve had a woman on board?” She asks, taking another draw of rum. 

“No, no. We’ve come to the aid of many ailing ships and extended Spain’s courtesy to guests who otherwise would have met with sad ends if not for the Mary.” 

“Noble.” She says. “And these _guests_ , have many of them visited the interior of the captain’s quarters?” She avoids eye contact, and he leans toward her, his lips touching the shell of her ear. 

“Why do you ask me this?” He questions. “Who do you think I am?” 

She pivots to face him and places her glass on the table. She whispers, 

“El Matador del Mar.” 

His brow furrows and his lips purse, giving definition to the deep groove that adorns his chin. His jaw line is serious and he fixes his hands on her hair, releasing the tortoise shell comb from its place and watching the curls cascade over her shoulders. 

“El Matador del Mar,” he parrots. “Are you not afraid of the butcher, then, girl?” His boots step firmly toward her and he looms, his dark eyes sweeping down the length of his nose at her face. 

She reaches up tentatively and places her fingers on his sideburns. He flinches, but she allows her thumbs to run over his cheekbones and she pulls his face toward her so that their mouths hover just inches apart. She can sense the heat of him and she wonders if he can see the pulse in her neck. 

“Girl,” she chides. “Who do you think _I_ am?” 

He smiles in spite of himself, connecting his cushioned lips to her own.  

The manner in which they connect after time apart is a polar shift or the moon’s pull. The easy waves rock against the ship’s hull, but she rises and falls to him like stormy waters. She is unsteady and he grips her arms fast, holding her in place as though she might dematerialize before his eyes — stolen away by time and circumstance. She’s careful in the way she kisses him, disguising her measure of zeal and concealing her escalating levels of dread. 

 _He’s not coming back._   

It’s a voice inside her head that rings so loudly she can barely stand it. In her dreams he’s an apparition in the surf, unable to join her in the warm sands. Her feet and legs are cold in the rainy Caribbean waters and she ages there, until she is nothing more than a sparkling block of salt in the sand.  

“More than just the timberman’s daughter,” he replies. “But you keep your secrets. They are not for me.” 

“I am not afraid.” She raises her voice and disregards his last remark. There’s a sensation in her throat that feels like something hot and scorched — quartz that’s been heated in the sun. 

“Not of me, no. Something else. It’s all over you.” He traces a line with his finger over her profile and she takes the snifter from his hand, setting it on the table beside her own. She exhales and looks up at him with hooded eyes. 

“Aro. Don’t go tomorrow.” Her pupils dart across his face and he sighs slightly with impatience. 

“We spend too much time talking,” he tugs at her dress, and she pulls the pearl from her pocket, balancing it in the palm of her hand before them. It glows in the bath of the night’s light. 

“Where did you get this?” She asks. 

“Why?” He recoils. She can tell by his tone that he’s offended. He removes his coat and drapes it over his high-back chair. 

She rolls the pearl in her palm before placing it back in her pocket. He runs his hand over his hair and she beholds a rogue strand of gray that she can’t help but to touch and tuck back in place. 

“Since you gave me this, I’ve been having strange dreams.” 

He responds quickly. “It’s the heat.” 

“They’re often the same. I’m waiting on the beach and I’m looking for you.” 

“Too far inland, your father should set you farther away from the town.” 

“The moon is always full and yet it’s raining, I’m consumed with fear.” 

“He’s a fool. I’d take you away from here, but he is stubborn and loyal to his king.” 

“I think you’re dead!” She exclaims, finally. “In these dreams.” She takes his arm. 

“Aro, I think that I’m … I don’t know.” 

“Seeing ghosts?” He asks, but his tone and expression misalign. 

“Where did you get the pearl?” She asks again, but he stalks her, and walks her toward the four poster bed against the wall. One of the posts meets her spine and he wrenches hard at the top of her dress, pulling the fasteners apart at the side. He reaches up between her legs and brushes his fingers along her inner thigh. 

“Oh, god,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering closed.  

“Better,” he says, toying with her through the fabric of her undergarments. 

He is defiant and forward and stubborn, but it’s difficult to resist him and all of his wants. His desire for her is an unrelenting torrent, and she stows away her questions as her hands feel their way about his vest, shirt and trousers, loosening buttons and clasps until her fingers connect with the warm olive skin underneath. 

He pauses to remove his boots, and he sheds his vest and shirt. He sits on the bed easily, the crown of his trousers free, the bulge within attentive and apparent. He runs his hand over his face before motioning to her. 

“Show me the rest,” he says, watching her half-dressed disarray.  

She swallows hard and pulls free the rest of the clasps of her overdress. She allows the silk to slip from her shoulders and pool on the cabin’s newly-polished floor. Her shoes she pushes from the backs of her heels and she reaches for the laces of her cotton bloomers. She watches his face and she releases the knot; her nipples pucker as she minds his eyes tracing the curve of her hip and the fullness of her thighs.  

There is something about his far-away flavor and manner that makes her uninhibited. She often feels as though she should approach him with added caution, but the unbalanced urgency that beats within her breast dictates otherwise. Hers is not the starched finery of a lady when they are alone, but it’s the heated seduction he wants, and the truth was that she wanted it just as badly. 

She turns away from him, allowing him full view of her backside, and she frees the satin ties of her corset. There is a sudden sensation of motion behind her — cloth slipping against cloth, and the air changes as he presses his chest into her back and removes what garments remain against her skin. He massages his hands over her full breasts and pushes his thumbs and index fingers on her nipples, squeezing as he goes. She can feel his hard aching against her inner thigh and a pale slick grows between her legs. Reaching her hand back, she weaves her fingers down the front of his trousers and grips hard his rigid thirst. He sucks in air through his teeth, spins her about and pushes her toward the bed. She sits, and he bends down on the floor before her. 

Spreading her knees apart, he kisses her inner thighs and smooths his thumbs against the moisture that’s already flowed from her and decorated the insides of her legs with lustrous sheen. She breathes shortly with anticipation, and when his tongue touches her sex, she juts her hips forward and braids her fingers into his hair. He grips at her backside and rocks her with the motion of his mouth, moving circles about her and applying pressure where he knows she wants it most. She forces her chest out and moans, and she can hear him emit a satisfied chuckle. 

There’s a sweltering sensation that brews in the pit of her stomach, radiating its way through her chest and into her limbs, making her hands and feet tingle. The blood speaks rapidly through her ears as her pulse races, and when he slides two of his fingers inside, her jaw slacks and she cries out — her pleasure bursting forth in a quick and fierce manner. 

The pace of his fingers is slow at first, but when she reclines onto her back, he mounts her and lifts her one leg, pushing himself inside as far as he can go. He is not easy with her and his hips force her severely as she grips his strong arms with her fingers. She squeezes shut her eyes and whispers his name, which only makes him hasten; the vibrating of her body making him shake, and she bends at the waist to reach up and take his face in her hands. His skin is moist and searing, and she crushes against his mouth with her lips, tasting herself all over him. 

Their tongues entangle for just a short moment before he pushes her back down, withdraws and beckons her onto her stomach. He pulls at her hips and positions her at the edge of the bed. She tucks her knees under her body and he sheathes himself inside her once more, his one hand bracing against her thigh and the other on the small of her back. He is quivering hard as he takes her this way, and her moans increase as she hears the labor of his breathing. She is wet all over and she wants to be covered in him — his taste; his smell; his touch. He pumps her hard to the point of pain at the end, and spills himself on her buttock with a critical eruption of satisfaction.  

The following moments linger and their exhausted breaths swirl the air and encourage the dripping candles at the bedside to dance unpredictably. 

She stretches her arms and he steadies himself against her and wipes her down carefully. She can feel his eyes studying her body. Easing back against the feather pillows she takes note the pensive cut between his eyes, so black in the night.  

“Tell me,” she says, her voice cracking from the dryness in her throat. "Please tell me everything." 

“I will,” he replies, finally, kissing her forehead and touching the smooth shine of her face. “At daylight.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third Armando Salazar one-shot and at this point, it's really a series. All three of my Salazar pieces speak to one another in some sort and involve the same original character. I am attempting to build an AU here, but I haven't quite fit all the pieces together. Once I do, I will reorganize the works so that they fit together more properly. Until then, please enjoy the piece, as well as "Painful Delay" - the first one-shot installment, and "The Moon's Pearl" - the second one-shot installment. Thanks for reading!


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